


A Day in The Life

by SloanGreyMercyDeath



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, just some moments between them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SloanGreyMercyDeath/pseuds/SloanGreyMercyDeath
Summary: What happens between waking up together and going to sleep together?
Relationships: Root/Shaw
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	A Day in The Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeafouralarmfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeafouralarmfire/gifts).



The early morning light streams in through the safe house windows, illuminating the space. The large table, with chairs still untucked from the previous night’s meeting, reflects the light and spreads it further into the space. The exposed bricks walls look soft in the yellow and orange light, and the air glitters with floating specks of dust.

Slowly, the sunlight crawls into the large bed where Root and Shaw sleep, tucked together in pale gray sheets. It caresses Root’s face first, prompting her to roll over and tuck her face into the crook of Shaw’s neck. This, in turn, wakes Shaw from a dreamless sleep and she frowns as the sun hits blinking eyes.

Shaw enjoys sleeping close to Root, even if it makes her feel vulnerable. Root’s long limbs pin her to the bed, keeping her in place, and she can drift off safely. The only person who has approached Shaw in her sleep is Root herself and if she’s in the same bed, then Shaw is probably safe.

With a soft sigh, Shaw untangles herself and slips silently out of the bed. She sits on the edge, pulling a duffel bag closer with outstretched toes. When it slides within reach, she tugs it open, pulls out clean underwear, black sweatpants, and a light grey sweatshirt. She doesn’t know about the day’s number yet, and so she’s unworried about others entering the space and dresses casually.

With one last look at Root, and Bear who is asleep on her other side, Shaw stands and heads into the kitchen. The safehouse is small and it only takes her a few steps. She uses the time to tie her usual low ponytail and lure her consciousness into fully waking. 

The safehouse kitchen is kept fully stocked, probably by the same invisible people who keep the place clean and orderly. Shaw opens the refrigerator, looking over the contents. She pulls out eggs and bacon and closes it again.

The items go on the counter beside the coffee maker. She knows the smell of coffee will rouse Root from her sleep and the bed and so Shaw waits a little while to start it. It’s nice to get some time alone after spending hours awake and asleep in bed with someone else. She needs time to charge her interpersonal skills and remind herself that she enjoys the company.

A frying pan is kept in the cabinet beside the stove and so Shaw squats down, her knees cracking at the first move of the day, and pulls it out. It’s placed on the front right burner (her favorite) and the stove’s dial is set to low. She picks up the decanter of olive oil, sprinkles some on the non-stick pan, and sets it back into its place. 

Next, three eggs are cracked into a bowl, examined for pieces of shell, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and then poured into the warming pan. Shaw prefers her eggs over easy, just runny enough to dip her bacon into. It’s not the most dignified way to eat breakfast, but in the privacy of a safehouse, she doesn’t mind the process.

Three slices of bacon are fit into the frying pan beside the eggs and Shaw turns the heat of the stove up just a little. Taking a moment, Shaw leans a hip against the kitchen counter and rubs her hands over her face. It’s quiet moments like this when Shaw reconsiders being part of the team or part of a something with Root.

She enjoys the solitude. It’s so easy to be a person when she doesn’t have to pretend to be a person. No one is watching her and reading her face or waiting for her to talk or expecting anything from her. Shaw is just a human making food because she needs to eat to live.

A rustling noise makes her stick her head out of the kitchen and look toward the bed. Root has shifted again. She’s taken Shaw’s place and pressed her nose into the pillow, presumably because her sleeping mind wants to take in Shaw’s warmth and scent. Bear has sat up, his face turned toward Shaw and ears raised expectantly. 

She signs for him to stay put and ducks back into the kitchen. Her food is cooking, her mind is close to fully active, and she knows she needs to start the coffee and wake Root up. As she opens a high cabinet, raised onto her toes, she thinks about Root. Pulling down a coffee filter and a can of ground coffee beans, she shuts the cabinet silently and lowers herself to the floor.

Root expects nothing from her, is happy to sit in silence, never seems to search for something more in Shaw’s face. She seems to exist separately from the other people around them, but not quite in Shaw’s world. It makes Shaw feel less of an outsider to know that there is another outsider, too.

She opens the top of the coffee maker, removes the old filter with one hand and places the new one with the other. Wandering over to the trash can, she listens for any sign of wakefulness from Root. The safe house is silent except for the opening and closing of the trash can and the soft thump of wet coffee grounds hitting the garbage inside.

Root drinks her coffee with far too much cream and sugar, but Shaw can bring herself to care. She isn’t going to bring the enthusiasm, so it’s fine if Root pollutes her coffee to fuel herself. She opens the can of coffee grounds, uses the small scoop inside to drop them into the filter, and then closes all the open containers.

The sound of the carafe leaving the maker is startlingly loud in the silent safehouse and Shaw winces. She hesitates in place, listening for signs of life, but none come. Relieved, she goes to the sink, turns on the faucet, and fills the glass carafe. When it’s ready, she uses it to fill the coffee pot’s reserves and then slides it back into place.

Once she’s started the coffee, she takes a spatula from a drawer, flips her eggs, and flips her bacon. The spatula goes onto the cool side of the stove, cradled by a ceramic bowl. Now that the smell of freshly brewed coffee will wake Root up at any moment, Shaw goes to the freezer and pulls out a box of Eggo waffles.

They’re trash food, but Root enjoys them and so Shaw slides two into a toaster and puts the box back in the fridge. Sometimes, she thinks about how she never made breakfast for anyone in her life before Root and it worries her as much as she can be worried. Is her something with Root making her soft?

Then, she reminds herself that it’s just breakfast, it’s just sex, it’s just coffee, and takes a deep breath. She’s not falling in love and losing herself. Root isn’t trying to fix her. They’re just two people who enjoy spending time together, having sex, and shooting guns. Besides, if she didn’t make Root her stupid Eggo waffles, then Root would just whine and Shaw would have to put up with that.

Smiling to herself at the thought of Root whining about waffles, she takes down two plates from another high cabinet. They clink softly on the countertop as the coffee begins to bubble and drip. It slowly fills the carafe and the apartment with the smell. A groan floats into the kitchen as Shaw uses her spatula to move her breakfast from the pan to her plate.

She leaves the pan and spatula in the sink, turns off the stove, takes a fork from a drawer, picks up her plate, and heads for the couch. Across the room, Root sits up and stretches, long arms reaching for the ceiling. Her head tilts side to side, eyes still closed, as she tries to bring the world into focus. 

Shaw places her plate on the coffee table and heads back into the kitchen. The coffee is done and she quickly makes Root’s too sweet, too pale mug. Her own coffee is black with only half a teaspoon of sugar. The mug handles fit easily in her hands and she brings them out to the sitting room as well.

By the time she places them down, Root’s eyes are open and she smiles blearily at Shaw across the safehouse. Shaw flashes her a quick smile and returns to the kitchen again. As she steps over the threshold, the Eggos pop out of the toaster. She transfers them to a plate and moves to the refrigerator. 

The sound of Root sliding from the bed makes Shaw smile linger. She knows that Root would sleep all day if she was allowed. If Shaw didn’t start coffee, or The Machine didn’t beep insistently, Root might never wake up. She is always tired and, somehow, she is always still full of life. 

Pulling butter and expensive maple syrup from the fridge, Shaw tops Root’s waffles, shaking her head at the amount of sugar. Maybe Root sleeps so hard because she is always falling from a sugar high. It wouldn’t be surprising. Still, Shaw indulges her.

She returns the butter and syrup to the fridge and takes Root’s plate out to the sitting room. Root has left the bed and the light peeking out from under the bathroom door tells Shaw where she has gone. Placing Root’s plate beside her own on the coffee table, Shaw picks up her mug and takes a careful sip.

Harold always buys coffee that is much more expensive than it should be, but Shaw never complains. Years of gas station coffee taught her to appreciate the good stuff. She put the mug down, switching her focus to her food. As she eats, she stretches her legs out in front of her, sticking her feet under the low table.

The team uses the safehouse for meetings mostly, and to keep numbers, but they occasionally sleep there. Root enjoys a break from her small bed in the Subway and Shaw is never going to invite Root into her own apartment, so they spend their nights together on neutral ground. Shaw takes another drink of her coffee.

A small woof from beside her makes her look down at Bear, who has found his way to her. She scratches him behind the ear and presses her cheek to the top of his head. He whines and she obediently tears a small piece of her bacon off and feeds it to him. Satisfied, he jumps onto the couch and lays against her thigh.

The bathroom door opens and Root stumbles out, still looking a mess. Her hair is tied up in a haphazard bun and her formal pajamas are crinkled. Shaw knows that the word for Root right now is ‘cute’, but she wouldn’t be caught dead using language like that. Instead, she just watches as Root crosses toward her and drops onto the couch on the other side of Bear.

She picks up her mug, humming happily, and takes a long drink. Her legs curl up on the cushion and she picks up an Eggo waffle with delicate hands. Shaw shakes her head, another smile tugging at her lips, and returns to her own breakfast.

They eat in silence, thinking their own thoughts and just enjoying the other’s presence. It is so rare to have a slow morning that neither of them can bring themselves to force conversation. It’s a comfortable silence.

Before Shaw realizes it, Root has finished her waffles and coffee. She stands smoothly, her eyes clear and alert. Shaw knows that look, the one that means The Machine is talking. Instead of asking for information, she swallows her last piece of bacon.

Stacking Root’s plate on top of her own, she adds the coffee mugs and utensils to the top of the pile and stands. Then, it’s back to the kitchen to wash dishes. As a child, Shaw hated doing dishes. It seemed like such a waste of time.

Now, it is just another job that needs to get done. Putting the dirty dishes in the sink, she pushes up her sleeves and turns the water on. She loses herself in the monotony of rinsing dishes, scrubbing dishes, rinsing dishes again. As she finishes each one, she puts it in a small drawing rack where some invisible hand will put it away when no one is around.

Placing the last dish in the rack, she shuts the water off. The safehouse is quiet, but she can hear the sound of high heels on the wood floor. Clearly, The Machine has given Root a job. Shaw tugs her sleeves down and walks back toward the bed.

Root stands in the bathroom with the door open this time. She’s wearing a very nice dress, dark blue and form fitting. Shaw leans against a wall, letting her eyes drag over Root’s body. No matter how many times Shaw sees Root dressed up, it’s always a nice sight. Root is an enigma and Shaw doesn’t mind that she can’t figure her out. It might be part of her charm.

Sliding the last hairpin into her hair, Root smiles at herself in the mirror. It doesn’t take much more than a brush to make her hair look decent and if she pins it out of her face, she can pass as well-groomed. With a sigh, she drops her smile and moves on to her make-up.

Seeing the move, Shaw pushes herself off the wall and walks to the bed. She needs a shower, even if she’s just staying home. Although, seeing Root get ready tells her that she’ll have work to do after all. She strips down to nothing and goes to the bathroom.

As she scoots behind Root to the shower, their eyes meet in the mirror. Shaw winks at her, soaking up the grin she gets in return, and breaks the eye contact. Root returns to doing her make-up and Shaw turns on the shower.

It doesn’t take long for the water to warm and Shaw steps inside, sliding the glass door closed behind her. Another splurge from Harold had gotten her a high-pressure shower that ran so hot it hurt. Shaw stands beneath the scalding stream and lazily pulls her ponytail out, letting the water soak her through. 

She stands under the stream for a moment, just enjoying the warmth and water. When she’s relaxed, she cleans herself with soap that smells like Root. It used to bother her that they smelled the same now, but she can’t care anymore. There are worse things to smell like.

Turning the shower off, she slides the door open. Root is gone from the bathroom. Sweeping her hair to the side, Shaw wrings it out into the shower and the splashing of water on tile echoes through the apartment. It always amazes her how much water her hair can hold. 

Once she’s dried her body with impossibly soft towels, she twists her hair up inside one to dry. Wearing only her headwrap, she walks out of the bathroom, looking around. Root is gone and so is Bear. Shaw frowns. She was planning on spending the day with Bear. 

Rolling her eyes, Shaw picks her duffel bag up off the floor and places it on the bed. She should get to the subway and see what the plan for the day is. Reese and Harold are probably already there, planning without her. If Shaw doesn’t go to help them, she’ll end up in a tiny dress again. She just isn’t in the mood for that.

Dressing, she remembers that she brought her Heckler & Koch to the safehouse the night before. She looks around and spots it in its case on the dining table. It needs to be cleaned, so she makes sure to grab it before she leaves the safehouse and heads to the subway.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Root walks confidently down the New York City sidewalk, one hand holding a bouquet of roses and the other holding Bear’s leash. It was a cold wintery day, but her coat was thick and she’d been walking all over the city. The Machine had her running errands like stealing guns from the Russian cartel and planting bugs in corporate offices.

It’s boring stuff, but someone has to do it. At least Root is almost done for the day. She just has one more delivery to make and she can go back to the subway. Bear tugs at his leash, nose in the air as they pass a hotdog truck. Root skips forward a few steps and starts around the corner. Obediently, Bear follows along.

Around them, the city hums and vibrates with life. Root loves the electric buzz that runs along the telephone wires and streetlights. The Machine is chatting in her ear and she listens to the stream of information, saving some attention for her surroundings. Her mind is always split into pieces, different parts of her doing different things.

The Machine always occupies half her mind. Root thrives on the attention and opportunity for adventure. She lives with the only god that matters in her ear. That gives her a purpose and a drive. She knows Shaw thinks that she gets her energy from sugar and caffeine, but Root knows it’s from her live-in deity.

Shaw owns the other large part of Root’s mind and life. They move at similar paces and look at things in similar ways. It’s comforting to know that there is someone like Root out there in the world. It doesn’t hurt that her counterpart is the most beautiful woman that Root has ever seen.

Speaking of her beautiful bedmate, Root stops in front of a large art gallery. Its storefront is unremarkable, plain white walls with the name painted above a fogged-glass door in black, block letters. Adjusting her grip on her flowers, Root pulls the door open and walks inside. 

The gallery is nearly empty. The silence is heavy and Root nods at the receptionist who gives her back a half-hearted smile. The room is a stark white, with art placed in a horizontal line along the outside of the room. It’s funky and modern and Root considers buying a piece for the safehouse. Maybe she’ll get The Machine to pick something out for her.

A wall in the center of the room is covered by commissioned graffiti. It divides the front of the gallery from the back, with doorways on either side. Root’s target is on the other side of that wall, so she clicks her tongue at Bear and starts for the left doorway.

In the empty gallery, Root’s heels sound like claps of thunder. Bear’s nails click along and his collar jingles with each step. She knows that there is no world in which she has the element of surprise, but it’s still satisfying to see Shaw’s eyebrows rise when Root walks through the doorway. 

Root takes a moment to look Shaw over. She’s posing as a security guard to keep an eye on the gallery manager and the tight tuxedo looks wonderful on her. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, accentuating her neck and jawline. Tasteful make-up brings out Shaw’s eyes and lips and Root sighs happily. 

Then, she turns away from Shaw and pretends to look over a piece of art. When a few seconds have passed, she moves on to the next work. It takes her almost three minutes to make her way to Shaw, who leans against the wall beside the door to the gallery’s office. She’s crossed her arms, which pulls her jacket tight against her bicep and Root runs her eyes over the muscle as if Shaw herself was a work of art.

If it were only up to Root, she would convince Shaw to abandon their number and drag her into an alley. After standing in an empty room for hours, Shaw is probably bored beyond belief. Root knows from experience how Shaw likes to use Root to alleviate boredom.

However, they’re all part of a larger plan and Shaw has other things to do with her day. Root smells her flowers, meeting Shaw’s eyes. Shaw winks at her, the corners of her mouth quirking up. That will have to be enough for now.

Bear sniffs at Shaw’s feet. She bends down to pet his head for a moment, a genuine smile filling her face. They touch their noses together for a moment before Shaw remembers Root’s presence. Clearing her throat, she stands again and resumes guarding the office door.

Root’s spent enough time here and so she leaves Shaw behind and walks to the corner of the room. A fancy steel trash can sits against the wall. Looking over her shoulder, Root meets Shaw’s eyes as she drops the bouquet into the trash. Shaw rolls her eyes.

With a flip of her hair, Root leaves the gallery, taking Bear with her. She smirks at the receptionist, who gives her another tired smile, and pushes the door open. The Machine seduces her with another mission, so Root turns left toward the FBI building instead of right toward the subway.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Shaw sucks lemonade through a plastic straw, the condensation from the paper cup collecting between her fingers. It was a little too sweet, but she’d bought it from her favorite food truck, so she wasn’t going to throw it out in front of them. She is also sweating beneath her suit and warm winter coat and the cold drink helps.

She’s already finished her tacos, practically scarfing them down. Beating people up always gives her an appetite and hanging out in front of a food truck is a great way to people watch. There aren’t too many people around, but she follows a man walking a dog with her eyes as she drinks her mediocre lemonade.

The day’s number turned out to be the perpetrator and Shaw had easily taken him down. Apparently, art galleries are great ways to embezzle money and get into trouble with the Russian cartels. Still, some of the art was nice, and the gallery’s owner was so grateful she stopped the embezzling manager that she let Shaw pick out a piece. 

It may not have been the safest thing to do, but Shaw had the manager ship it to the safehouse for Root. It will look nice above their bed. Catching herself, she rolls her eyes. It isn’t their bed. It’s the safehouse’s bed. The fact that she picked an art with Root in mind doesn’t matter.

Flashing a smile at the foodtruck’s owner, Shaw starts down the busy NYC street. The lunch break was nice, but she has things to do. The bouquet that Root left in the trash had a card with an address on it. It also had a perfect lipstick kiss on it, but that isn’t the important part. 

She pulls the card from the pocket of her coat as crisp, winter wind blows across her face. The address isn’t too far from where she is, so she keeps walking. Tucking the card away, Shaw adjusts her wool beanie, making sure it’s still holding her mass of hair up. She wants to be prepared for whatever or whoever is at the address.

Shaw navigates through the city with ease. Even before she lived in NYC full-time, she had the map memorized. Maps are always easy for her to remember. They make sense and they rarely change. A night might be different, but the street is the same and that’s what matters.

Having a map, a set course from point A to point B, makes her comfortable. Maybe that’s why she spends so much time tracing Root’s body with her fingers. Shaw wants to understand her lines and secret ways. She wants a clear image of Root that she can orient herself around. So far, she has Root’s body memorized, but no clear path forward.

Shaking images of Root’s naked body from her mind, she looks around to see where she is. Lost in her thoughts, her feet brought her to the right intersection. She scans the area around herself and spots the store number spray painted on a sheet of plywood that covers the window. It used to be an electronics store, but it’s hard to believe it’s still in business.

Shaw looks both ways before jogging across the street. There aren’t too many people around and she feels exposed. Thankfully, she has several guns strapped to her. When she reaches the other side of the street, she takes another long sip of her lemonade and tosses it into a trash can. She wipes her wet hand on her coat and heads for the store.

When she walks inside, one hand under her coat on her gun, she sees what must be the last Radioshack in NYC. The walls are covered in wires and gadgets and the fluorescent lights flicker overhead. The ancient music system is silent except for the faint whine that trickles out of one speaker that refuses to die. Shaw suddenly feels like she’s 14 again and begging her mom to buy her a cassette player.

With a heavy sigh, she walks to the checkout counter across the store, idly spinning a display stand as she passes. Root’s card had been vague, so she doesn’t know if she’s here to kill someone or pick up a package or buy batteries. There’s no one in sight behind the counter, so Shaw hits the rusting service bell.

The ding is surprisingly loud and a moment later a teenage boy walks out of the office. As soon as he sees Shaw, he pales and disappears back into the room. Shaw groaned, her head dropping back and glaring at the dirty ceiling. She isn’t going to shoot a kid and Root knows that, so there must be some other reason that she’s been sent here.

The boy reappears with a laptop bag and holds it out toward Shaw with trembling hands. He’s obviously terrified and she knows that it’s Root’s doing. It makes Shaw smile to see him swallow hard with fear and she fakes a jump toward him. He almost drops the bag, but manages to grab a strap before it hits the ground.

Taking a small step forward, he thrusts the bag toward her again and this time she takes it. The boy practically runs back into the office, making Shaw’s smile widen. Root really did a number on him. 

Putting the bag on the counter, Shaw unzips it and looks inside. It just seems like a laptop, so Shaw closes the bag again and turns to the door. There’s no point in trying to figure out why Root needs a random laptop from a random computer store, so Shaw puts the strap on her shoulder and heads for the subway.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When Shaw walks into the subway, it’s silent and empty. She wanders down the steps, unbuttoning her coat and pulling it off. After a week of leaving their coats on Harold’s desk, Root and Shaw managed to convince him to buy lockers. The first thing Root did to celebrate the win was tape up a picture of Shaw on the inside of her door.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Shaw heads for the lockers, taking her beanie off and letting her ponytail drop against her back. She opens her locker, smiling at the picture of Bear she put up just to annoy Root. Her jacket hangs on the small hook and her beanie is tucked beside a safety deposit box full of bullets.

She closes her locker and heads for the subway car. If Root isn’t here yet, then Shaw is going to clean her Heckler & Koch while she waits for her. Frowning, she lifts the laptop bag’s strap off her shoulder as she steps into the car and places the bag on the computer desk. She’s not waiting for Root to arrive; she’s cleaning her gun and Root’s going to arrive while she’s doing it.

Before she left to play security guard, she set up a table between the rows of seats in the car. Her gun is still in its case, sitting beside her cleaning kit. Everyone on the team knows better than to touch her stuff, especially her weapons. 

She sits on a subway seat and lifts one foot up. It takes her a moment, but she wiggles her way out of her boot and tosses it onto the row of seats across the car. The clattering of leather against plastic is loud in the quiet space and she places the next shoe down gently. Standing, she climbs onto the seats and walks along until she reaches her table.

The space is tight and her table is big, so she sits cross-legged on the hard plastic subway seat. After so much time spent in the underground space, it’s beginning to feel like theirs. Sometimes, she thinks about how weird it would be if she told someone outside their team that they live in an abandoned subway station and chuckles to herself. What a life.

Unzipping the large case, she reveals her long gun. It’s a .9mm Heckler & Koch MP5A3 with an 8.86 inch barrel and a 13.39 inch sight radius. It was a gift from Reese after a rough week and she loved it. It weighs about 7 pounds and it always felt steady in her hands.

She takes it out of the case, double-checking that the safety is on even though she always checks before she puts it away. It pays to be as careful as possible. Root and Harold would both kill her if she accidentally shot up The Machine. The case is tossed under the table and the submachine gun is placed in front of her.

Field stripping and cleaning guns is one of her favorite activities. It’s easy, organized, and necessary. The pieces make sense together and it lets her know that her equipment will work. She pretends that it requires intense concentration and it makes the others stay away from her.. They probably know that the process is muscle memory by now, but they respect her time.

The first thing she does is her safety check. She’s already looked at the safety, so she removes the magazine and places it in the far corner of the table. Next, she pulls the bolt and locks it before looking inside the chamber. It’s empty from the safety check she did before she put it away, so she slaps the cocking lever out of its indent and releases the bolt.

As Shaw sinks into the process of pulling out pins and removing groups, Root stirs in her bedroom across the subway. After she visited Shaw, she ended up chasing down a would-be gang of Russians who were new to the city and looking to make a name for themselves. They’d been convinced to seek formal employment fairly easily once she met up with them.

Talking to children exhausts her, so she made her way back to the subway and decided on a nap. There isn’t a lot going on this week thankfully. Root is looking forward to spending time with Shaw. That’s her first thought as she wakes from her nap and stretches her arms over her head.

There’s a warm weight on her legs and she looks down her body to see Bear sprawled over her. He’s staring toward the subway car with vertical ears, still relaxed, but attentive. She pets him behind the ear and his head lolls to the side to blink at her. Planting a kiss on his head, she holds him in place as she pulls her legs out from under him and swings them to the floor.

Not knowing how long she would sleep, Root put on her favorite pajamas, so she’s already dressed and ready to go. The sound of metal against metal floats into her alcove through the curtains. It must be either Shaw or Reese, she thinks to herself, running her fingers through her hair. The Machine tells her that it is Shaw and Root heads out into the station.

Her bare feet feel cold against the concrete floor, but their home base is warm. She’s glad that she took a nap because there is a project that needs her attention. Bear races past her into the subway car. The monitors in the car light up just before Root walks in and she smiles at the camera situated among them. The sound of metal against metal stops.

Root turns her head and her eyes meet Shaw’s. She winks, knowing that it will get her an eyeroll, and it does. Shaw nods silently to her and goes back to her work, Bear sitting on the seat beside her. The silence doesn’t bother Root. She has her own things to do and would rather not be distracted anyway.

Sitting in the chair at the desk inside the subway car, Root moves the laptop case aside. She’ll need it later, but for now, it isn’t important to her. She wasn’t sure what The Machine wanted it for anyway, so she couldn’t be bothered to care.

The monitor that sits on the desk lights up. Root logs into her own admin account, one Harry doesn’t know about, and opens the beginnings of her app. A few days before, she realized that Shaw didn’t have enough pictures of the two of them together. Root saw everything The Machine did, but Shaw always misses out.

So, Root is making an app that would replace the texting app on Shaw’s phone. It is an identical clone, but once an hour, Shaw will receive a picture of them together. There are plenty saved in The Machine’s archives and this seems like a good way to use them.

She knows that Shaw will complain at first, but then she will give in and look forward to them. Root never pressures Shaw into any sort of label, or even any sort of relationship, but she does like to push her buttons. It’s easier than Shaw wants people to believe. 

Root settles into her programming, listening to The Machine’s idle chatter and working on the app’s back end. It’s not going to take her more than a couple hours, but it’s a nice break from her usual world-saving. Sometimes, she thinks about how far computers have come and feels grateful for The Machine. She has everything she’s ever dreamed of.

She and Shaw work beside each other for a long time. Shaw methodically wipes and brushes everything down with mineral spirits. Root chooses the first few photos to be sent. Bear puts a paw on Shaw’s shoulder for attention. The Machine tells Root about Reese and Harry’s day.

It’s comfortable. That’s what they both notice. So many people have wanted more from them and wanted them to be different, but when they’re sitting next to each other, existing in their own spaces, they feel less alone than they ever have before. Root doesn’t worry about being a person and neither does Shaw.

At some point, after a while, Shaw’s Heckler & Koch is reassembled, clean and dry. She reaches beneath the table, gets a lick on the cheek from Bear, and picks up the case. Her gun is put away. 

She should take the table out of the subway car, but she doesn’t want to, so she doesn’t do it. Instead, she nudges Bear off his seat and crawls to the end of the row. Looking at Root, Shaw takes in the way her brow is furled with concentration and the way she chews on her thumbnail as she looks over lines of code and the way her eyes flash with the screen’s reflection. 

Root might as well be a part of that machine, Shaw thinks to herself wryly. Her whole day is full of noise. Shaw likes noisy days, too, but she likes the sound to come from guns, or fists against flesh, or really good music. Root just lives in a bubble of words and numbers.

It isn’t what Shaw cares about, but somehow she cares about Root. She likes the way Root’s body responds to her mouth, the way Root’s face responds to her thoughts, and the way Root is happy doing nothing at all. Of course, with The Machine in her head, Root is never doing nothing, even when she is. Shaw kind of likes that, too.

With a sigh, Shaw climbs off the subway seats and heads out of the car. It’s probably late, so she doesn’t want to make the trek back to the safehouse or her own place. She’ll stay in Root’s bed for a night and it isn’t going to kill her. Probably.

She pushes aside the curtain, holding it for Bear. Bear follows her into Root’s alcove and jumps on the bed. He’s too used to this space and Shaw makes a note to keep him with her more often. He isn’t allowed to become Root’s dog. 

Shaw undresses quickly, leaving her clothing stacked on the chair. There are no pajamas here for her and her overnight bag is still at the safehouse. So, she crawls into bed in only her underwear and hopes in vain that Root will keep her hands to herself.

Some time later, Root realizes that she is alone in the subway car. She blinks around the space, her eyes tired from staring at the computer screen. Shaw’s gun is away in its case and she is nowhere to be seen. Root frowns, a little bit upset that she didn’t get a goodbye, and stands.

She and Shaw will see each other tomorrow, she tells herself. This isn’t the last time they’ll see each other. Heading for her bedroom, Root adjusts the waist of her pajama pants. She was hoping to at least get a good night kiss, but she knows Shaw’s style. They aren’t the sentimental types.

Moving aside the curtain, she’s pleasantly surprised to see Shaw in her bed, fast asleep. Bear lays between her and the wall, protecting her from the cold concrete. His ears and then his head appear as Root enters. His tail lifts from the bed and wags twice before falling again.

Wasting no time, Root climbs into bed. She spreads the blanket over the both of them and curls against Shaw’s back. An arm encircles Shaw’s waist and then Root is the big spoon. Though she’d deny it when she was awake, Shaw’s sleeping form relaxes into Root, lets her hold on tightly.

In the morning, Shaw will wake first and dress and leave the subway. She’ll make her way back to her own apartment and change her clothing, just so she can return to the subway. Root will be awake by then, drinking too sweet coffee and eating Eggo waffles. Reese and Harold will pretend that Shaw slept somewhere else. Bear will still be in Root’s bed.


End file.
